The Lost Battle (For Me)
The flaming arrows let loose, she gazes at the flickering flames. She builds a barricade as tears threaten to tear through, their power growing as the flames seize the pyre in their suffocating fingers. Behind her, the broken cries of her children call her toward despair. She turns toward her escape route, willing her barriers to hold. She does her best to remain stone-faced and strong as she retreats. Her subjects must not suspect how broken and mangled she is inside. She resolutely marches through the citadel, pitying stares and humble bows following in her wake.
The moment her beacon of red hair can no longer be seen nor her footsteps heard by the mourning crowd, she flees to the stables. Expertly shedding her warrior's armor, she disguises herself in dark green riding clothes with a hood to cover her recognizable mane. Vaulting onto a chestnut horse, another stab pains her heart as she recalls her fallen charger. Spurring the horse on, she races against the damage her grief is inflicting upon her resolve. The familiar rock face and treacherous steps call forth memories of old like biting arrows. Tears, beginning to cut paths across her cheeks, blur her vision, but she knows the way by heart. She almost expects him to appear from behind the trees and greet her, the way he would when they were young. The greeting never comes, and she climbs the final leg of her journey alone. The mouth of the cave opens wide before her, her footsteps echo eerily off the rock walls, and her resistance falls. The battle lost, she crumbles to the floor as if she was mortally wounded. Stinging tears cascade down her face, a crashing river of grief and despair. Her greatest advisor and stronghold, not to mention her only love, is felled. This time his body would not be reformed. He could not return to her just when she needed him ever again.
She becomes aware of another presence, and pulls her hood tighter whilst strictly halting her tears. The presence grows closer, but she hears no footsteps. Turning, she finds no one to be there. "Oskan?" she calls.
The air seems to pulsate around her, and she rises to her feet, battle-ready. A globe of warm light, floating before her, molds into the shape of her deceased beloved. His form glows, surrounded by the light. His voice calls softly to her, "Thirrin, my love." She moves to embrace him, but she stops in her tracks as he holds up his hand. "You cannot touch me for I am only a projection. My spirit form is not ready to visit this world yet." A short sigh escapes her disappointed lips. Her legs shake in her weakness, and he urges her to sit. "Remember the good times with fondness. Hold onto the struggles only for encouragement and hope. Most of all, my warrior queen, fight through the sadness and win. Move on the best you can…For me."
Her defenses are breached again by tears. "I can't," she whispers hoarsely.
"You will," he replies demandingly, tears roughing his voice. "For me." The sphere of light re-forms and pulses once before disappearing. A warmth stays, settled on her shoulders, as a reminder of his love.
A/N: Just a short little story I came up with one day. Give me some comments, please?